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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24482824">That Harrowing Zero</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theatr1x/pseuds/Theatr1x'>Theatr1x</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Andrew Minyard Has Feelings, Angst, Baltimore, Emotional Hurt, Inner Dialogue, Introspection, M/M, POV Andrew Minyard, Protective Andrew Minyard, Reveal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:35:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,748</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24482824</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theatr1x/pseuds/Theatr1x</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew could detach himself from his pain, ignore his trauma, and dismiss his rageful thoughts—but he couldn’t force the image of Neil Josten from his mind. The hold it had over him was more potent than everything he had managed to bury over the past several years. It was more urgent than the need for breath, more destructive than his own proclivities. It nourished that sick feeling that was slowly overtaking him, and made his head pound as Neil’s words buzzed around in his head—</p><p>“Thank you,”<br/>“You were amazing.”</p><p>Or</p><p>A look at the thoughts going through Andrew's head after Neil was nowhere to be found after the Bearcats game, and how he managed to choke answers out of Kevin.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Andrew Minyard &amp; David Wymack, Andrew Minyard &amp; Renee Walker, Andrew Minyard &amp; The Foxes, Kevin Day &amp; Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>315</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>That Harrowing Zero</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The crowd had dispersed by the time Andrew managed to pry himself away from the paramedics.</p><p>They had poked and prodded at him at Wymack’s insistence—shining lights in his eyes and asking him pointless questions. Andrew ignored the paramedics and instead craned his neck in search of blue eyes and the number four etched into a freckled cheekbone. He eventually grew irritated of scanning every bloodied stranger that stumbled past for Neil’s stupid face, and after shoving an over-zealous EMT aside, strode towards the stadium’s far gate.</p><p>Bruised Exy fans littered the walkway—nursing the injuries they had sustained in the riot that had broken out nearly an hour before. Andrew’s shoes crunched over shattered glass as he weaved through the battered crowd. He didn’t know what he was searching for until he caught a glimpse of Palmetto-orange in the parking lot. He pushed an injured Bearcats’ fan out of his way as he hurried towards it, ignoring the curse the man shot his way.</p><p>Andrew didn’t know what to think when he approached Neil’s bag and racquet. They rested in the lot just a few feet from the curb—the bag dirtied and knocked on its side and the racquet resting carelessly on the ground. He kneeled down beside the duffel and rolled it upright, noting its placement odd. That was when he caught a glimmer of something on the pavement a few feet ahead. His breath caught at the sight of a familiar grey phone lying in the road: Neil’s phone.</p><p>He quickly stepped over the orange duffel and snatched the device off the ground. The plastic was damaged from where it had seemingly struck the pavement, but the screen came to life when he flipped it open. A sick feeling started to rise up in the pit of Andrew’s stomach. It felt heavy and unfamiliar—born from something other than his usual seasoned apathy.</p><p><em>“Thank you,”</em> Neil had said in the lounge just hours earlier. He had tried to hide the troubled look on his face and the strain in his voice, but his eyes had betrayed him. Andrew had recognized the pained look there. Those blue eyes were guarding some semblance of fear, trying to build a wall between him and a darker truth. Andrew knew Neil well enough to see past the façade, but he couldn’t fully decipher that troubled look.</p><p><em>“You were amazing.” </em>It seemed no one else had noticed the subtle shake in Neil’s voice when he said those words.  Andrew had tried to interpret the meaning in Neil’s pained stare. He had kept his eyes locked on Neil’s, hoping he might find the answer swimming in them somewhere, but the attempt was ultimately futile.</p><p>Neil’s words echoed in his head as he searched through the phone. The first thing he noticed was a number with a 443 area code in his call history. Neil had picked up, but the conversation had been short—just 46 seconds. Judging from the time, it had come in shortly after their game ended. There was nothing particularly ominous about the call, but something about it didn’t sit right with Andrew. Something about it continued to feed that sick feeling in his stomach, and he felt it begin clawing its way into his chest.</p><p>He determinedly ignored the sensation, and checked Neil’s outgoing calls, but didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. His voicemail was empty save for a couple of short messages from Kevin and a lengthy one from Nicky. After combing through the rest of Neil’s call history for the mysterious number and coming back empty, Andrew navigated to Neil’s text messages, and initially found nothing but rambling texts from Nicky, a few short texts from Kevin, and one-word messages from himself. But after scrolling to the end of Neil’s conversation history, a tab appeared that read “Recently Deleted (49)” in bright red text.</p><p>Andrew clicked on it to reveal a string of deleted messages. As he scrolled through the series of messages, it became clear that Neil had been receiving texts from an unknown number every day for some time. Each message only contained a number, each one lower than the last, as if counting down to something. The first number had been sent almost three months ago, and the latest Neil had apparently received this afternoon. That message sat above the rest, and simply read “0”.</p><p>The feeling that overtook Andrew was difficult to place, but it hovered somewhere between rage and fierce concern. As he scrolled through the rows of ominous texts, all he could think about was how much he hated Neil and all of his secrets. He hated the lies and the half-truths, and he hated the fact that he had been keeping this fucked up countdown to himself for weeks.</p><p>That sick feeling creeped up into Andrew’s throat, and he shook with the effort it took to swallow it down again. He wasn’t sure what it was that was clawing at his insides, but it was as uncomfortable as it was vexing, and it was slowly chipping away at Andrew’s self-control. Andrew flipped the phone closed and clutched it tight in his hand as he cursed Neil’s stupidity under his breath. Neil always played his cards close to his chest and seemed intent on making Andrew’s job infinitely harder.</p><p>Then he realized with a hitch in his breath, that Neil had relieved him of that job earlier that same day. He had convinced Andrew to free him from their deal on bus to Binghamton that afternoon.</p><p><em>“Is it exhausting seeing everything as a fight?”</em> Neil had asked after Andrew scolded him for looking at him the way he always did. Like he wasn’t the irreparably damaged, lost-cause he knew himself to be.</p><p><em>“Not as exhausting as running from everything must be.” </em>He had retorted.</p><p><em>“Maybe,” </em>Neil conceded, <em>“I told you I’m working on that.”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Work harder.”</em>
</p><p>Neil shifted his weight, so that he sat higher in the seat as if to get a better look at Andrew. The sun had been shining in Andrew’s eyes, but he saw the resolve settle over Neil’s face before he said, <em>“I can’t unless you let me go. Stand with me, but don’t fight for me. Let me learn to fight for myself.”</em></p><p>Andrew realized now that Neil had no intention of fighting. He had urged Andrew to break their deal under the guise of self-assurance and some bullshit sense of courage. But it wasn’t about any of that. He had known that the countdown was ending—that his days were literally numbered, and instead of involving Andrew he resolved himself to play the martyr’s role.</p><p><em>“You’re a different kind of suicidal,” </em>Andrew had told him, <em>“Didn’t you figure that out in December? You’re bait. You’re the martyr no one asked for or wanted.”</em></p><p>Neil had just looked at him with some quiet sureness, unfazed by Andrew’s attempts to dissuade him. His eyes darted between Andrew’s in a considering way before flashing a crooked smile and saying, <em>“Only one way to be sure, right?”</em></p><p>He knew Neil had been hiding his reasons for relinquishing Andrew from their deal, but he hadn’t expected something like this. He didn’t know that Neil was biding his time until the worst came. It made him furious, like he could kill Neil himself if only he could get his hands on him. But even stronger was a feeling Andrew swore he would never be victim to again: regret. It settled in the pit of his stomach and threatened to tear him apart from the inside as the situation began to fully dawn on him.</p><p>Neil had been taken—kidnapped. That harrowing “0”, the way his things were dirtied and left strewn in the street, the desperate look in his eyes back in the lounge. Andrew cursed himself for caring at all--in the absence of their deal there was no reason for Andrew to protect Neil anymore. He had warned Neil what could happen if he relinquished Andrew’s protection—Neil brought this on himself. But even so, Andrew couldn’t stop thinking about the way Neil’s voice faltered back in the lounge, or the despondent look in his eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look in his eyes or the timbre of his voice when he said <em>don’t fight for me</em>.</p><p><em>“You spend all this time watching our backs,” </em>Neil had said with ferocity on the rooftop back in January, <em>“Who’s watching yours? Don’t say you are, because you and I both know you take shit care of yourself.”</em></p><p>Andrew had shot him an unamused look at that. <em>“You have a hearing problem,” </em>he had told him, <em>“Too many balls to the helmet, perhaps? Can you read lips?” </em>He lifted a finger and pointedly gestured to his mouth as he spoke, <em>“The next time someone comes for you, stand down and let me deal with it. Do you understand?”</em></p><p>He had met Andrew’s harsh look with a defiant look of his own, and he spoke with a fierce sureness when he said, <em>“Not if it means losing you.”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Not if it means losing you.”</em>
</p><p>Andrew struggled to choke back the sick feeling that rose up into his throat as Neil’s words echoed in his ears. Those words shouldn’t be weighing so heavily on Andrew—Neil was nothing to him. He was just a frightened child with a death-wish and an unhealthy appetite for Exy. He was an idiot with a target on his back, who lacked the sense to take cover. At times Andrew found his presence insufferable, and even now he cursed Neil’s recklessness and stupidity.</p><p>But as much as he tried to fight it, something in him was clutching onto those words and refused to let go. He couldn’t will it away the way he could with everything else. He could detach himself from his pain, ignore his trauma, and dismiss his rageful thoughts—but he couldn’t force the image of Neil Josten from his mind. The hold it had over him was more potent than everything he had managed to bury over the past several years. It was more urgent than the need for breath, more destructive than his own proclivities. It nourished that sick feeling that was slowly overtaking him, and made his head pound as Neil’s words buzzed around in his head—</p><p>
  <em>“Thank you,”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You were amazing.”</em>
</p><p>“Is that Neil’s bag?” Came Nicky’s voice from somewhere behind him. It pulled Andrew back from the edge he was quickly approaching, but he didn’t take any comfort in it. He attempted to push Neil’s voice from his mind—bury that sick feeling down deep and conjure up his signature indifference. But with every breath he took he felt himself inching closer towards that edge again—and he was suddenly aware of the sweat on his palms as he tightened his grip on Neil’s phone.</p><p>Andrew’s prolonged silence might have confused Nicky if Andrew didn’t have a propensity for just that. Though usually his lack of answers was due to disinterest or indifference—now it was born of a loss for words. There is just no way to express how he feels about Neil’s dirtied bag or that grisly “0” in Neil’s messages. There aren’t words that exist to explain the way Andrew’s stomach bottoms out when he thinks of the pain in Neil’s eyes as they darted back forth between his back in the lounge. His vocabulary isn’t adept enough to describe what’s going on inside his head as he recalls the shake in Neil’s voice when he thanked him for his effort that night. Andrew abandoned his search for the right words and sucked in a sharp breath in an effort to steady himself.</p><p>“He’s gone.” Was what Andrew eventually managed to muster up.</p><p>“What do you mean ‘gone’?” Came Matt’s voice.</p><p>Andrew raised an eyebrow at that and turned on his heel to meet Matt’s gaze. Instead, he found all the foxes standing behind him on the street. Dan was crouched down by Neil’s bag, brushing the dirt off its side. Matt stood behind her holding Neil’s racquet, his bruised face twisted with concern. Renee and Alison stood near Wymack just a step off the curb, while Kevin and Aaron had taken up post next to Nicky.</p><p>Andrew only afforded them a brief look before twisting Neil’s phone free from his fingers and tossing it at Nicky. Nicky twitched in surprise, but still managed to catch it with both hands.</p><p>“A countdown,” Andrew said plainly, “He’s been getting it everyday for weeks.”</p><p>Nicky looked at him in confusion for several seconds, as if he expected Andrew to elaborate. When further explanation failed to come, he flipped the phone open to look for himself. Matt moved to stand behind Nicky, and looked over his shoulder as he perused the contents of Neil’s deleted messages.</p><p>“What—what is this counting down to?” Nicky asked worriedly, handing the phone off to Wymack’s expectant hand.</p><p>“Today,” Andrew told him.</p><p>“I don’t understand—” Dan said as her eyes darted from Andrew to Nicky, “Who would be sending Neil some creepy countdown?”</p><p>“Are you stupid?” Aaron asked with a roll of his eyes, “Whoever he was running from obviously caught up with him.”</p><p>“What are you saying? They just took Neil?” Allison asked.</p><p>“Looks like he got a call after the game ended.” Wymack chimed in, apparently having pulled up Neil’s call history.</p><p>“A call?” Dan asked, looking up from the duffel, “From who?”</p><p>“443 area code,” Wymack answered, “That ring a bell with anyone?”</p><p>“Baltimore.” Kevin’s voice was quiet and strained, but somehow broke through everything else. The foxes turned to look at him, but Kevin didn’t meet their eyes. His eyes were fixated on the pavement at his feet, but he was staring off into space. Andrew was keenly aware of him now—the rigid set of his frame, the way his hands were balled into fists at his sides.</p><p>“What is this about Baltimore?” Wymack questioned, settling a searching gaze on Kevin.</p><p>“It’s—” Kevin stuttered as the color drained from his face, “Jesus, it’s—”</p><p>“Focus—” Wymack stood in front of Kevin now, snapping an impatient finger in his peripheral, “Why is Neil getting mysterious calls from Baltimore?”</p><p>Kevin opened his mouth as if to speak, but his lower lip just trembled as the words eluded him. He shut his eyes tight and breathed out a deep, shaky sigh before opening his mouth again, “I can’t—“.</p><p>“What do you know?” Andrew said sharply, taking a purposeful step towards Kevin.</p><p>Kevin looked at him, likely startled by the edge in Andrew’s voice, but quickly looked away again. Even so, Andrew recognized the fear in his eyes immediately. He had caught flashes of that same fear in Neil this past year. He caught a glimpse of it on the court months ago when he told Neil he wanted to see his scars, and again at the airport when he had told Andrew his father’s name.</p><p>“I don’t—" Kevin choked out, subconsciously taking a step back in response to Andrew’s tone, “I didn’t think—"</p><p>Kevin was stumbling over his words, and Andrew was growing frustrated. Kevin’s spinelessness was usually a mild nuisance, but right now Andrew found it utterly intolerable. The grip he had on his self-control was slowly slipping. Whatever protection Andrew had afforded Kevin meant nothing to him now—the thought of Neil in danger overshadowed everything else.</p><p>“Did you know about this?!” Andrew yelled with a voice like fire, gesturing towards the phone in Wymack’s hand. The Foxes stared at him in silent alarm. Renee rested a gentle hand on Andrew’s shoulder in an attempt to keep him calm, but Andrew shook it off.</p><p>“No!” Kevin choked out, finally meeting Andrew’s eyes, “He never told me anything about a countdown—”</p><p>“What <em>did </em>he tell you?” Andrew demanded, taking another step towards him. Wymack put his arm up in silent warning—a feeble attempt to get Andrew to back off.</p><p>“Nothing about any texts—I only know what he told me after the fall banquet.” Kevin offered with a sigh, running an anxious hand through his hair.</p><p>“Care to elaborate?” Wymack asked pointedly.</p><p>Kevin drew in a shaky breath and after a moment of contemplation finally met Andrew’s eyes and said, “Look, he knew this was coming. He knew what would happen if he stayed.”</p><p>“What the fuck are you talking about?” Andrew hissed. He could feel all eyes on him now, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered to Andrew right now except Neil. Andrew’s self-control shouldn’t be in shreds because of the Foxes’ starting striker, but it was. Though he often insisted what they had was ‘nothing’, and despite the absence of their deal, he would cut down anyone that stood in his way. Even Kevin Day.</p><p>“Don’t act like this is my fault—” Kevin shot back defensively, “I told him to run—I <em>begged</em> him to run! But he wouldn’t, he said <em>you</em> told him to stay!”</p><p>Andrew’s fists shook at his sides as his eyes bored into Kevin’s. He felt his chest grow hot with anger as that sick feeling began to climb back up into his throat.</p><p>“Are you saying that Riko kidnapped Neil??” Nicky asked in alarm, looking away from Andrew to afford Kevin a worried look.</p><p>“This has nothing to do with the Moriyamas.” Kevin huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.</p><p>“Then enlighten us.” Wymack told him.</p><p>Kevin looked over at Wymack, eyes wrought with fear and uncertainty. He rubbed his face anxiously with both hands, before exhaling rigidly and looking to the ground.</p><p>“Look,” Kevin said, turning back to Andrew, “He didn’t stay because he thought you could protect him.” He held Andrew’s gaze for a moment before turning to the other Foxes, “He knew his days were numbered, okay? He knew he wouldn’t last through spring.”</p><p>“What are you saying?” Dan asked in disbelief, “He just resolved himself to die?”</p><p>Kevin didn’t answer her, but his silence seemed to be answer enough.</p><p>“That’s crazy—” Nicky blurted out, “Neil’s a fighter! He wouldn’t—”</p><p>“There’s no fighting back against the people after him,” Kevin interrupted him matter-of-factly, “His mother tried and now she’s dead.”</p><p>The Foxes fell silent at that, likely surprised by Kevin’s curtness and the grim implication in his tone.</p><p>“Who’s after him, then?” Allison pried, breaking the silence, “You said it isn’t the Moriyamas—so who is it?”</p><p>Kevin appeared offended by her question; affording her a look that wavered somewhere between ire and alarm. It seemed Andrew was missing a piece to this puzzle. Neil had told him it was the Moriyamas’ people who were pursuing him due to his parents’ thievery, but Kevin had just said this didn’t involve the Moriyamas. Andrew knew Neil had often fed him half-truths to placate his curiosity, but now he was keenly aware of the holes in Neil’s story.</p><p>Andrew realized Kevin had fallen silent at Allison’s question. He had averted his eyes to the gravel at his feet once again, but Andrew was not content to let him dodge the question.</p><p>“Who is it, Kevin?” Andrew pressed.</p><p>Kevin shifted his weight, surely aware that he could not escape this line of questioning. He looked up slowly without meeting anyone’s eyes, and said weakly, “His father.”</p><p>“His father?” Nicky questioned him in surprise, “Why would his father kidnap him?”</p><p>“They call him—” Kevin’s voice cracked, “They call him the Butcher of Baltimore, because he’s—” His voice faltered as fear overcame him again.</p><p>“The Butcher?” Dan cut in after Kevin didn’t elaborate, “Why do they call him The Butcher of—”</p><p>“Look,” Kevin interrupted her, his voice strained, “I can’t talk about it anymore, okay? It’s over, that’s all you need to know—”</p><p>“Over? What are you talking about, Kevin?” Nicky asked worriedly.</p><p>“He’s dead.” Kevin replied after a moment’s hesitation, voice shaking, “That’s all you need to know. I’m sorry, but he’s dead.”</p><p>That was when Andrew punched him.</p><p>He didn’t remember making the decision to do it. He only remembered giving into the rage he felt in that moment. He was hunched over Kevin on the asphalt now, hands wrapped around his throat. The yelling and protests of the Foxes around him were barely audible, muffled as though he were under water. Everything around him was a blur—all he could see was Kevin’s fearful eyes and flushed face as he tightened his grip on the striker’s neck.</p><p>
  <em>He’s dead.</em>
</p><p>Andrew wanted to scrub those words out of existence. He wanted to squeeze the life out of the man who dared to speak them. Andrew could feel the hands of the Foxes trying to wrestle him off, but just barely. The harder they tried to pry him off, the more he tightened his grip.</p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry, but he’s dead.</em>
</p><p>The words resounded like thunder inside his head—harsh and unrelenting. Though Kevin had said it clearly, Andrew struggled to understand what it meant. He had heard Neil’s voice as he blathered to him on the bus to Binghamton just hours earlier. It wasn’t long ago that he had felt Neil’s hand in his hair and the warmth of his touch. He couldn’t imagine that voice silenced; that scarred body stilled. More than that—he violently rejected the idea. It was abhorrent, intolerable, unacceptable.</p><p>Kevin had just begun to fall limp when Andrew was forcefully hauled off him. Sucking in a desperate gasp of air, Kevin clambered backwards on the pavement away from Andrew. Matt, Dan, and Wymack held Andrew back as he fought to choke the remaining life out of the Foxes’ star striker, who had now rolled onto his side coughing and gasping for breath.</p><p>“Andrew—” Renee exclaimed, moving so she was blocking his view of Kevin. Under different circumstances her tone may have been able to steady him, but in this moment Andrew’s tunnel vision triumphed over reason and restraint.</p><p>Still fighting against those holding him back, Andrew jerked himself to the right enough to look around Renee at Kevin and shouted, “Why do they call him the Butcher?!”</p><p>Kevin was propped up on an unsteady elbow, wheezing and coughing up saliva onto the pavement. He had a hand wrapped protectively around his throat, as if trying to erase the weight of Andrew’s hands. Kevin made no indication that he had heard him, so Andrew jerked his left side free and stumbled a step forward before Dan and Matt tightened their grip and Wymack seized his left arm once again.</p><p>“Damnit, Minyard!” Wymack cursed, adjusting his grip on Andrew’s bicep, “Simmer down!”</p><p>Andrew ignored Wymack’s demands and instead shouted at Kevin again, “Why do they call him the Butcher?!”</p><p>Kevin flinched at Andrew’s tone, but he attempted to regain his composure anyway. He proceeded to get to his feet, stumbling slightly when he finally stood up straight. A protective hand still covered his neck, and Andrew could see that his elbows were bloodied from the attack. Kevin’s eyes darted about the Foxes worriedly, but he eventually settled a cautious gaze on Andrew and rasped, “You don’t want to know.”</p><p>“Don’t presume to know what I want.” Andrew told him curtly.</p><p>Kevin’s hands were shaking as he wrung them together and nervously shifted his weight. After a moment of contemplation, Kevin explained, “He—he was Lord Kengo’s right-hand. He did his dirty work—executed people. His name was Nathan. Nathan Wesninski.”</p><p>Andrew recognized the name. He remembered the way Neil’s voice had quieted when he told Andrew his father’s name at the airport, as though he was afraid the man might materialize if he said it too loud. He remembered when his father came up in their conversation back in January, when Andrew had run his fingers over the mangled skin of Neil’s torso.</p><p><em>“This,”</em> Andrew had said, digging his fingers into the iron-mark on Neil’s shoulder, <em>“Is not from a life on the run.”</em></p><p>Neil’s breath had caught at Andrew’s insinuation, and he moved his head to look at Andrew’s hand where it rested on his ravaged flesh. He only looked at it for a moment before meeting Andrew’s eyes again. <em>“My father gave me that.” </em>Neil had said.</p><p>Neil had told him how people had come by asking about his father’s work when he was a child, and how he had hit him with the iron after they left. He told Andrew he gave him ‘Abram’ as a show of trust because he didn’t want to give him his father’s name. <em>“I hated him.”</em> Neil had said. And Andrew believed him.</p><p>“They call him the Butcher because he’s known for using knives,” Kevin continued, his voice shaking, “And for being especially…brutal.”</p><p>“Brutal how?” Andrew asked him, though he was sure he wouldn’t like the answer.</p><p>“When we were kids, Neil and I—” Kevin told him with a crack in his voice, “We saw him cut a man into pieces. He cauterized the wounds so he wouldn’t bleed out. He suffered for hours.”</p><p>Andrew didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t sure what he expected to hear, but nothing could have prepared him for Kevin’s explanation. The fear in Kevin’s voice was palpable, but it was still only a fraction of the fear Andrew had witnessed in Neil over this past year. Andrew had always sensed there was something broken about Neil, that there was something paramount to who he was that he held back during their game. No matter how deep he managed to dig through the mystery that was Neil Josten, there always seemed to be another secret to unearth or more horrors to excavate.</p><p>“Wait—” Matt said after a moment of stunned silence, “What do you mean ‘when we were kids?’ You knew Neil before?”</p><p>“When I knew him, his name was Nathaniel,” Kevin revealed, “He was supposed to be number three, not Jean.”</p><p>“What the Hell?” Nicky said nonplussed, “Why didn’t we know all this?”</p><p>“I didn’t even know until Jean threatened to expose him at the Fall Banquet,” Kevin told him, “After all these years, I didn’t recognize him.”</p><p>“This doesn’t make sense,” Dan argued, “Why would his father want to kill him?”</p><p>“Lord Kengo wouldn’t allow nepotism to fracture his empire,” Kevin explained, “Nathaniel couldn’t inherit his father’s syndicate, so he was given a chance to earn his keep. If he impressed the Master, he would have become like me. But if he failed, he would have been killed by his father.”</p><p>“Jesus,“ Nicky said, horrified, “Then how did he end up here with us?”</p><p>“His mother wouldn’t risk it, so after the first day of try outs she fled with him,” Kevin told him, “He was on the run with her for years—until his father’s people killed her. He told me he buried her on the west coast.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ—” Wymack finally interjected, appalled at the idea.</p><p>“His father was furious,” Kevin continued after drawing a breath, “They had disrespected him. Made him look weak. He couldn’t have that—everything he had built he built on fear. If he lost face, he’d lose everything. So he made it his mission to kill them both.”</p><p>The Foxes all knew that Neil had secrets—that much was apparent after their locker room had been vandalized with pig’s blood back in January. Even so, no one could have guessed he had been hiding something as sinister as this. Andrew remembered the look on Neil’s face when he saw the bloody writing on the wall the day of the Belmonte game. Though Neil had tried to mask it, Andrew caught a glimpse of panic move featherlight across his face. He attempted to play the whole thing off as one of Riko’s tricks, and Andrew hadn’t pried. But he had seen the way the color drained from his face, and now he recognized that familiar shade of fear in his eyes.</p><p>His father had been toying with him.</p><p>“I begged him to run, but he knew he was dead either way,” Kevin said desperate and wide-eyed, turning to look at Andrew now, “He said—he said he didn’t want to die alone somewhere on the run. He wanted to stay here and play Exy, even if it meant he’d only live another six months.”</p><p>Andrew’s breath hitched in his throat, some war between enmity and anguish waging under his skin. He caught himself remembering the velvet of Neil’s voice when he rambled on in German, and the way he hissed at Kevin in French. He pictured the blue of Neil’s eyes on their first trip to Columbia, and the red of his hair in the waiting room at Easthaven. If he closed his eyes, he could see Neil’s fingers pressed into the metal of his Maserati key, learning every inch and edge of it. Andrew could almost feel the rough divots and ridges of Neil’s skin even now, and how it felt to kiss him senseless those nights on the roof.</p><p>Andrew was suddenly back in Fox Tower, his hands under Neil’s shirt as he pressed him against his dorm wall. He remembered the urgent press of Neil’s lips against his own, and the way Neil’s fingers felt nestled in his hair. He remembered those cold nights on the roof top—the warmth of breath on his lips and the rapid pulse in Neil’s chest as it pressed against his. The thought that he would never again feel Neil’s cautious touch on his sleeve or the demanding slide of his hands in his hair was overwhelming. The idea that Andrew would never again see Neil smile crookedly at him with a cigarette perched between his lips was too much to bear. That sick feeling rose up in him again, and he was afraid he might be sick.</p><p>The chime of Wymack’s phone temporarily distracted him from his destructive thoughts. He had relaxed under Matt, Dan, and Wymack’s grip by now, and felt Wymack let go of him with one hand to reach into his pocket.</p><p>Wymack offered the screen a cursory glance before turning to Andrew and asked, “Can I let you go without fear of having a homicide on my hands?”</p><p>Andrew looked at him with a plain expression, a thousand miles from all this. Wymack studied him for a moment, but eventually appeared satisfied by Andrew’s non-answer. After glancing at Kevin briefly, Wymack gestured for the others to let Andrew go. Dan and Matt did so reluctantly, and Wymack eyed him warily for several moments before answering his call.</p><p>“This is Wymack.” He said into the receiver, and after listening for a moment, “The FBI?”</p><p>The Foxes perked up a bit at that, their collective attention on Wymack, who had turned on his heel to face them. They listened intently, attempting to hear what the other line was saying. However, aside from a few “yeah’s” and “uh-huh’s” from Wymack’s end, there wasn’t much to decipher. The fear in Kevin’s eyes had returned as he stared at Wymack tensely. Andrew hadn’t moved from where he stood.</p><p>“What hospital?” Wymack snapped at the person on the other line. He shot a significant look towards the team and gestured for them to follow him.</p><p>Andrew felt as though his feet were weighed down by lead, but he still followed the rest of the Foxes across the parking lot and onto the bus. He was listening more intently to Wymack’s phone call now, hanging precariously from the shred of hope it gave him.</p><p>“And neither will we until we see him,” Wymack bit into the receiver, “So I suggest you give me an address.”</p><p>After some badgering, Wymack grabbed a pen from Abby and pried the cap off with his teeth. He scrawled something on his palm, then hung up and tossed his phone onto a nearby seat and announced, “He’s alive. He’s beat to all Hell, but he’s alive”</p><p>The air in the bus seemed to lighten as the Foxes sighed and chattered in relief. Kevin let himself fall back in his seat, a relieved sigh escaping his lips. He ran a shaky hand through sweaty hair and asked bewildered, “How?”</p><p>“He didn’t specify,” Wymack told him after showing Abby the address on his palm, “But he’s refusing to talk to them unless he can see us.”</p><p>“We’re going to see him, right?” Nicky asked in alarm, grabbing on tighter to the seat in front of him as the bus rolled into motion.</p><p>“Where do you think we’re going?” Wymack asked him humorlessly, “Get comfortable, it’s a four-hour drive to Baltimore from here.”</p><p>Kevin looked at him incredulously but let himself relax back into his seat as Abby eased the bus onto the nearest frontage road. Nicky’s jittery chatter preoccupied the rest of the Foxes, except Renee who slid into the seat alongside Andrew. He didn’t acknowledge her when she sat down, but he didn’t feel inclined to make her leave. So they sat there in silence for the drive, Renee attempting to keep Andrew steady by just being in his proximity.</p><p>The news that Neil wasn’t dead should have lifted the weight off Andrew’s shoulders, but he couldn’t rest until he saw Neil with his own eyes. He couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief until he saw what his father’s people had done to him.</p><p>Andrew needed to touch Neil with his own hands to know it was real—that buried under blood and bruises, Neil was still there. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he could feel the warmth of Neil’s skin under his palms and find the rhythm of the pulse in his veins. Andrew needed to see the life in Neil’s blue eyes; run his hand over scarred skin and through messy red hair. Nothing would ease his mind until he could feel the cut of Neil’s jaw in hands and see the rise and fall of breath in his chest.</p><p>Andrew wanted to be angry with Neil, to tell him to his face how stupid he had been. He wanted to curse him for attempting to martyr himself for the Foxes’ sake, and for convincing Andrew to relinquish him from their deal. Andrew worked his jaw as he thought about punching Neil for feeding him countless lies and half-truths over the past year. But the urge hit the Foxes’ starting striker seemed to dissipate with every passing mile, replaced instead by a fierce anticipation.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey all, this is my first fic! I know it's a common one, but I share the same interest as many others in wondering what Andrew was thinking after Neil was kidnapped. Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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